


Storm Season

by halfpastten



Series: Pokemon Smut Collection [60]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Bondage, Cults, Dark Fantasy, Deity Tentacruel, Drowning, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Hallucinations, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastten/pseuds/halfpastten
Summary: When the stormy season starts, the townfolks pray for it to end soon. For when it doesn't end soon enough and the hunger gnarls for too long on them, it is time to appease the Deep God with other means than prayer.
Relationships: Dokukurage | Tentacruel/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Pokemon Smut Collection [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615384
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

“...and thus we call to Thou, God of the Deep, accept this humble offering, for we praise Thy name and fear Thy wraith. Calm, God of the Deep, for we pray of Thou. Calm, God of the Deep, calm the ocean, so that we might return to it…”

The voice went on, the flow and ebb ever-flowing. Despite her age, Ebbers’ grandmother still captivates the crowd of people surrounding them at the shores of the sea. They chant with her, chant the name of He who lurks in the deep, not caring about the storm tossing around the waves and against the cliffs. Thunder rolls loudly through the air and more than once Ebbers flinches when lightning jumps out from the dark clouds roiling above. Still, his grandmother’s voice can be heard eerily clear, lulling him into its flow, his eyelids heavy and his body numb.

He almost doesn’t care anymore that it’s him she’s offering to the Deep God.

It is for a good cause, he reminds himself. He’s been chosen because for weeks the storms come. Their island isn’t rich; green things grow slow on this salted soil and between the unforgiving rock. The heavy rain destroys many things, and with the ocean as angry as now, nobody dares to set sail to supply the townspeople with fish.

They can’t even trade with the towns along the mainland shores. All paths are closed with the churning waters between, and the people are hungry and desperate. They prayed and waited, but nothing came out of it. And so they turned towards Ebbers’ grandmother, priestess and seer of the Deep God, and she told them what to do, as she always did in times of need.

When the bones told his name, Ebbers knew that nobody would speak up for him, and he resigned to his fate to be offered to Him. He only hopes that it will be enough and that it won’t hurt when He drags him down into the cold depths of the sea.

“...take him on as Yours, oh God of the Deep. He shall be Thy faithful servant. He stands here of his own free will, to be taken by Thou. Oh, God of the Deep, hear our call and be merciful…”

He remembers her look when she read the bones. For a moment, Ebbers thought she was about to cry, but then she hardened her heart right in front of him as she named him as the sacrifice.

It was either him or starvation and death and his friends and family, his fellow people, called his name with hope and desperation on their gaunt faces.

He’d been taught, of course, about the Sacrifices. About those brave men and women who were chosen to become servants of the Deep God. When the ocean is angry and the storms do not end, it is time to make the offering, so the story goes. He’s seen one offering when he’d still been a small child clutching his mother’s skirt, watching as the ocean rose up the cliff, watching as the sacrifice was accepted.

He remembers the screams of the woman who’d been taken that day, and how the storm calmed down the very next day.

Being named sacrifice - it was a shock. He knew that he had to do it. He wasn’t bound and dragged around for the preparation; he wasn’t forced to go up the steps to the cliff, wrapped in a white robe, barefooted and with shells adorning his hair. They didn’t need to - where could he go, on this barren land?

Only into the sea, so here he stands, staring out and watching the waves building up, thrown this way and that, tossed by the winds that rip and tug on his flimsy ceremonial garb. He would shiver, he thinks, if he isn’t still shocked. Since yesterday, since his name has been called, his head is full of the whispers of his elders. _Duty,_ they whisper as his grandmother continues her chant, hands raised to the sky. They’re all wet from the rain. _Honour_ , they whisper, and Ebbers’ knees feel weak, barely able to support his weight. Sickness fills him, but he doesn’t move.

 _Necessity_ , they whisper, and he buckles, then, cloth clinging tight to his body, shells heavy on his shorn head, cold and miserable. The ocean rises as the chants of the townspeople rise into a crescendo, and then Ebbers stares into the eyes of the Deep God, and he can see nothing but cruelty and malice in them. He falls, the voices of his people ringing in his ears, thunder and lightning marking his fall, and the God meets him there, catching him with his many arms.

“Oh, God of the Deep, take him! Take your servant and be merciful!” his grandmother screams and Ebbers can’t help but think that her prayers don’t matter, that his sacrifice doesn’t matter.

But then they crash down and the cold seeps into his bones and the water follows, into his mouth and down into his throat, filling his lungs as he is dragged underneath the raging surface.

\---

_Ebbers clutches to his mother’s hand, struggling to keep pace with her longer stride. It’s cold and the rain doesn’t stop. Neither does the wind. He wants to go back home, but he is not allowed - when he asked before, his mother got angry, her shadowed face twisting into something foreign and ugly. It is hard to see her clearly with how tired he feels. But he knows it’s terrible gaunt._

_Everyone’s faces are gaunt and thin like the faces of the demons painted in the eastside cave._

_“Is it far, Mama?” he asks. His legs hurt and the rain soaks his clothes until all he feels is the coldness. Like that time he fell into the sea during the cold season. “Where are we going?”_

_“Be silent,” she says, sounding just as tired as he feels, but she doesn’t slow down. Nobody does as they climb up the cliffs. He can see the ocean clearly from up here, can see it raging, ready to devour them like it devoured his father._

_Ebbers is afraid of the ocean. He thinks he is the only one and never dares to say it, but sometimes he can see a red glow in there, like eyes watching him. The glow is in his dreams, too. Once, he told his grandmother, but she had shushed him quickly and told him never to tell anyone else._

_His grandmother is the smartest person he knows, so he will keep his secret, even though he is still afraid. He keeps walking because his mother scares him as well._

_When they reach the top, he can see_ her _standing there, white robes clinging to her body, facing the sea._

\---

When his eyes open again, he isn’t drowning anymore.

That is the first thing he notices - that horrible push onto his lungs, the pain of salted water inside his body, is gone. The second thing he notices is that despite this simple fact, he is still surrounded by the ocean. There’s the taste of salt on his tongue when he opens the mouth and it is dark around him. He can see, very weakly, the outlines of his hands in front of him; a bit clearer are the white robes still clinging to him. They do not drag him down - he floats in a sea of darkness, water filling his lungs when he breathes.

Somehow, it works - somehow, he lives. He remembers, then, his fall and the Deep God there to catch him. He’s been dragged underneath the water’s surface by Him and made his servant. It is His work, then, that he can breathe here.

Slowly, his eyes become used to the darkness as well, and it is then that he sees the red glow coming closer, filling his heart with dread.

He wants to move away. Swim as far and fast as he can. But he doesn’t - his limbs move sluggishly and then the red glow is there, three big, round orbs on the Deep God’s body. Ebbers stares at Him, awe and terror fighting for dominance. The terror seems stronger, seeps cold into his limbs and Ebbers remembers the starving town, his frightening mother, his grandmother’s sad eyes and the raging ocean, and he knows that this is no god, this is a demon-

Something touches his forehead, a firm connection that pulls him out of his terrified thoughts. His head feels warm there, and it spreads throughout his head and torso and arms and legs, until his whole body is tingling with warmth. Whatever fright Ebbers felt just moments before is a distant thing now - he knows he should be panicking, eyes locked with the Deep God, and maybe he is panicking right now, but he doesn’t feel like it.

Another touch to his throat follows, and a touch to his chest, and Ebbers sees that it is the Deep God that is doing this, creating heated points on his body, not even a foot away from him now.

**I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.**

It isn’t a voice. It is a deep, reverberating _knowledge_ of what this being wants to tell him. It’s in Ebbers’ head, and it should, by all means, disturb him more. Something is wrong, but Ebbers isn’t afraid anymore.

He has already drowned. Maybe he is dead already; maybe this is his hell.

**Dᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ.**

“I’m not,” Ebbers says and the Deep God touches his cheek, cupping his face with two long, grey tentacles. They feel oddly firm against his skin and they hold him steady. All he can see now is the red glow and a pair of focussed eyes staring into him, like he is made out of glass, like he is _nothing at all_. But no - Ebbers remembers. He is not nothing.

He is a servant now. “You are the Deep God,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Somehow, he is aware that his body is dragged further down, that the Deep God is bringing them- to where? Home? Does a God have a home?

**Yᴇs.**

“I fell down the cliff.”

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.**

“Because I’m your sacrifice?”

**Yᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ALWAYS ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍɪɴᴇ.**

Ebbers stops saying anything after that. He remembers his nightmares, those red things watching him. Somehow, it still doesn’t make much sense to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You're welcome to leave prompts and suggestions in my Idea Collection. ☺**
> 
> Prompted by Etherealknight21 in the Discord server.


	2. Chapter 2

When Ebbers wakes up, he feels: cold water around him, the chill seeping deep into his bones; darkness that lets him think he might still be asleep and trapped in a nightmare; unnatural sounds surrounding him and he doesn’t know if they are in his head or not; someone watching him as he floats in the darkness, deep under the sea.

The salt tastes different, now, and although he cannot move and see, although he is freezing and not alone, he doesn’t feel afraid. His emotions are far from him in those days of uncertainty and do not return as he drowns and dreams, not even when he feels the way his body changes with time.

They are slow changes, unnatural and invading, but not entirely unwelcome. He notices first when the cold is no longer something foreign within him, but feels like warmth instead. His skin toughens and smoothens against the never-ending tide of the sea and it is comforting now, how cold it feels. His eyes, too, adapt to his surroundings and the darkness doesn’t become less dark, but more yielding to his gaze; he can see now, and he sees that he is not in the open, but within a room with stone walls and ceilings and floors, with things growing along the jagged surfaces.

Ebbers doesn’t know how long he is in that room, with his body becoming more foreign every time he wakes up again. He dreams, no matter if asleep or not, of cold things and eyes glowing red, and sometimes he thinks he knows who it is that watches over him.

And then, after who knows how long, he takes a breath and sweet, crisp oxygen is returned to his body as if the water he swallows is the air he knows so well. This is the thing that wakes him up fully, that returns the feeling and movement to his body, and with a gasp he turns and raises his hand and feet and inspects this new form of his, this water-born body.

It is not fully done, he knows somehow. But enough has changed that he can move again, think again, and the calm of before is gone.

\---

It is not only a room, Ebbers discovers. Swimming through one of the openings - a doorway, perhaps, although he cannot be sure -, he finds himself in a corridor with many such ways. There are sounds, eerie and foreign, that he tries to avoid as he makes his way through this palace. Sometimes he thinks they are voices, far away and calling, _pleading_ , but he doesn’t search them out.

He wants out of here and out of the water and back to the island. So he swims as fast as he can with these newborn hand and feet, wondering if he would even be able to breathe above water, wondering if they would welcome him back, hoping, _fearing_ , but he has to try at least-

Invisible eyes are on him and he flees from them through a cragged window, not bothered by how he cuts his skin on the sharp edges of the stone and corals. A flock of strange fish surrounds him and scatters in every-which way and he can see, high above, the faintest hints of sunlight.

Ebbers swims up and then He is upon him, long and cold _things_ winding around his arms and legs and pulling him back into the deep. “No!” Ebbers screams, wondering if his voice would even carry. “No! Let me go!”

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.**

“I want to go home!”

**Tʜɪs ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ.**

“What did you do to me?”

**Yᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴄʀɪғɪᴄᴇ.**

Ebbers stills, then, and turns around. He thinks he has seen Him before after the fall - thinks he remembers another time he’d dared to talk to the Deep God. He shivers as he met His eyes and leans into the touch on his cheek. This, he thinks, he remembers, too - the Deep God had collected him, has he not?

He has brought Ebbers down into his palace.

“You changed me,” he says and closes his eyes and feels as he is pulled close to Him.

**Eᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇs.**

There is another moment of silence. He can feel His touch, the way his _arms_ move on his body. The red glow penetrates Ebbers’ closed eyelids and he knows he will not escape today. “What will happen now?” he asks and his face is touched again, gentle and slow even as the other tentacles harden their grip.

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ.**

\--- 778

Ebbers stares at the woman before him. He knows her - he’d seen her once when he had been little, on the cliff-side in a white dress.

The white dress is gone, and so is her sad look. She is naked and changed, her eyes wild and wide and looking into the darkness. Nothing moves and yet she whimpers, hugging herself and huddling in a corner, heedless of the sharp things cutting into her flesh.

She doesn’t even see him. Doesn’t even see the Deep God behind Ebbers, his tentacles still around his limbs and throat, one gently caressing his cheek before briefly touching his lips in a way that makes Ebbers feel disgust well up.

In his hands is a knife, the metal rusted and the handle rotten. He knows it will still cut sharply.

“She’s insane.”

**Hᴜᴍᴀɴs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ.**

Ebbers shudders as He pressed behind him, His red glow tinting his hands and the woman in front of him.

**Tʜᴇɪʀ ᴍɪɴᴅs ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ.**

“Will I become like this, too?”

**Nᴏ.**

Ebbers breathes out and he feels the way the Deep God grabs him tighter. All of him is touched, wrapped in his many limbs, but he still faces forward, he still has the knife in his hand. He is afraid, but he doesn’t dare move yet. He is not released yet.

He wonders if this is his punishment. “Why not?”

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ. Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ. Hᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ? I ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ. I ᴡᴀɪᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. Tʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ.**

Is it true? He doesn’t feel made for this. The knife feels heavy in his hands, the grip on him restraining. He yearns to feel the sun on his skin and air in his lungs. Wherever he is touched, he feels the coldness of it. And yet, the Deep God is right here, pressed against his back, surrounding him in a dozen limbs, and when he feels the touch on his lips again, Ebbers opens his mouth and strangely wishes the tentacle would crawl inside of him.

He wishes he is dead instead of here, changed and with a knife in his hand. “I don’t want to kill her,” he says, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears, and He releases him from His hold.

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ sᴜғғᴇʀɪɴɢ. Sʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋғᴜʟ.**

Seconds go by, but they feel like hours. The woman doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move beyond some flinching. The taste of blood lingers in the water around, iron and salt. It tastes putrid and his stomach revolts. His hand shakes when he swims closer and the rusty knife looks so dark against her pale throat.

She doesn’t even move when he cuts, doesn’t say a word, and then she is dead and all he can taste is blood.

He cannot breath. He cannot move. He stares at the jagged opening he has created, the knife falling from his shaking hand. It is red, red, red in the water and he wonders if now the sharks will come to free him, too.

But they don’t. There is only him and the Deep God in this room and the moment the knife falls to the floor, he is pulled away from her corpse, eyes gone lifeless, the wild spark in them put out. He is pulled away and out of the room, down the corridor, through a hall with a ceiling so high he cannot see. His hands are still shaking even after the taste of the water is crisp and clean again.

**Lᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ, Eʙʙᴇʀs.**

Ebbers doesn’t want to, but he is given no choice. Like a puppet on strings his body moves, guided by Him, until he looks into His eyes, the red glow stinging as he faces Him. Now his whole body shivers and Ebbers feels them again, His tentacles crawling all along his body, underneath his white robe. He doesn’t know what happens, not until he can feel one running along his back, down and further down, the very tip parting his rear as another touches his cock-

And then Ebbers knows and he struggles and he pulls, but already he is bound. “No!” Ebbers screams and he wonders if there are more people down here, wonders if this is the true reason the woman has been mad, wonders if someone would come to help him.

The Deep God pushes him down and Ebbers can’t move, his legs pulled apart and his screams and shouts unheeded.

**Dᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ғɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜɪs. Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.**

He is the sacrifice. He is the servant. Ebbers knows this, but he still fights, or tries to fight, his thighs trembling when something _pushes inside_. Pain lances his body, sharp and burning. He gasps, eyes rolling back as his body is forcefully opened.

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.**

The thing inside him pushes and pushes and Ebbers feels his changed body adapting, can feel the pain receding, and maybe it is tolerable, maybe he can face it once. He wonders if he is crying and if it even matters; a few drops of saltwater in an endless ocean.

And then the tentacle pulls out, leaving him shivering and bound and staring up into His eyes as He looms above.

 **Eʙʙᴇʀs** , the Deep God says, his voice vibrating in Ebbers’ head. And Ebbers knows this is not over, can feel the foreign heat in the water, can see the look in His eyes. Pressure follows, something other than the smooth, grey tentacles holding him down - something hot instead of cold, slimy instead of smooth, and it _slides_ into the open space He had created and Ebbers has no words for how it feels.

Has no words for the invasion he suffers, the pressure inside, the way this _thing_ moves in twitches and pulses. The water around them heats up even more and it is so hard to breath as the _thing_ is thrust up and up and up again, changing Ebbers’ cries into something else as his whole body tingles with the sensation of it, his cock hardening, his insides clinging.

 **Eʙʙᴇʀs** , the Deep God says again and again, a whisper so relentless as His thrusts, as He takes and takes. And then He shudders, squeezing Ebbers tight in his grip, and it’s like a flood of heat that is released inside of him, foreign and disgusting and _addicting_ in a way that frightens Ebbers more than the rape itself.

 **Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ** the Deep God whispers, His cock still pumping, his tentacles still wound around Ebbers’ body. Sunlight never seemed so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You're welcome to leave prompts and suggestions in my Idea Collection. ☺**


	3. Chapter 3

The first time the Deep God had made use of Ebbers had been horrifying - he still remembers the suffocating sensation of those limbs all around him, holding him in place, spreading his legs and binding his arms so that he couldn’t even try to escape. He remembers the weight of Him on his body, despite the waters that should negate these things. The hungry, relentless and invasive way of the taking, how He simply _took_ while touching his face with cold gentleness. His stare, unblinking.

Everything had been drowned in His glow, tainting the waters around them red like the blood flooding out of the woman’s cut throat.

Ebbers doesn’t know how often he tries to escape afterwards. He is held in the palace deep underneath the sea, where neither sunlight nor storms touch his surroundings. There are swift currents that move the waters and disturbing creatures swimming through.

There are _dozens_ of changed humans there, as well, all of them blind and mad from their time under water, and everytime Ebbers sees them, he can’t help but think that he, too, will become like this. No matter how often the Deep God tells him he won’t (every time he finds him and holds him down, hungry and hard; everytime his tentacles grip Ebbers so tightly as he fucks him or simply plays with Ebbers’ body until he can’t help but harden for Him), the fear still lingers and his wish to return to the surface grows.

He wants to go home, to this simple life he’d been living. He wants to see his family again, to return without knowledge of what hides beneath the stormy sea. But everytime he tries and swim to the surface, He awaits him and punishes him (but maybe he doesn’t - maybe this isn’t punishment. Ebbers is a sacrifice, given to the Deep God in hopes to calm the seas, to feed those he left behind. Maybe this is why he is here - to serve Him in mind and body, to be His knife when he slits the throats of the mad, to be His wife when there is only darkness around and the warmth of a human body too tempting).

So Ebbers stays, helpless despite the ongoing changes of his body. It doesn’t matter that after each time he slumbers, his eyes grow sharper and his limbs grow stronger until he cuts through the water like the fish he sees and feeds on. The coldness of the Deep has long since grown soothing against his skin, so much so that the heat of the Deep God’s ministrations feels like a fire burning through his body, leaving only ashes behind. His fingers have become long and webbed, tipped with strong nails. His skin is tough and the sharp edges of stone and corals won’t cut him anymore.

Sometimes, he thinks he is not human anymore, that he lost his place underneath the gentle sun. But still, he craves for his freedom, more than he craves the soothing touch of Him or the urging rocking that would tingle all the way down to his toes, clinging to the stone floor, pushing _against-_

He stops his thinking immediately, his body frozen on the spot for a moment or two, before he manages to tuck them away. Only then does Ebbers turn another corner of his endless prison. There is a knife in his hand and it doesn’t shake as he searches for the source of a mindless cry.

How often does he search for them now, to release them from their fear and madness? How long has he been down here? There are no days and no nights, only the darkness and the hollow sounds of others. That he still knows words, knows himself, seems like a miracle to him. Most of the faces he sees, with their far-away looks and the pitched ramble of the insane, are unknown to him.

How many islands, Ebbers wonders, throw their children into the stormy sea?

He finds the one he is searching for in the big cathedral of the palace. Thin and wrinkled like seaweed, the man’s gaunt face is as foreign to Ebbers as his memories of the sun. Wisps of white hair float around his stricken face, his mouth open, his wails echoing forlornly in the empty space.

The man looks like a ghost, not a living thing, and Ebbers moves the knife and thinks that there is a spark of gratitude in his eyes before they darken.

It helps, thinking that way, when he drags the corpse out of the hall and towards the edge of the palace, to push it out of a window and watch the sharks ripping it into shreds. In an hour, even the tiniest bit of this man would be devoured by the sea.

Deep down, there are no burials.

“I want to go to the island,” Ebbers says as he watches the faintest hint of sun so far above. Watches the blood taint the water, and then the glow doing the same. He says it every time when he does his duty, every time when he tries to flee, every time when the Deep God presses him to the ground or against a wall in feverish lust.

He can feel His presence now and doesn’t move or flinch when a tentacle brushes his face in that mockery of care and gentleness. Doesn’t move or flinch when it curls around his throat, pulling him away from the window.

He lets himself be pulled and curls into the hold he knows so well, eyes now on his God as he reaches out to touch His face. “Please?”

For a moment, everything stills. For an eternity, the Deep God just watches him and Ebbers sees the cruelty in His eyes when he finally answers.

**I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ɪᴛ.**

Ebbers opens his mouth and silence follows. Then he clothes it again, just when the tip of a tentacle touches his lips, softly quivering. Something is off, he can tell, but he doesn’t mind it. Because he now has permission.

He has permission and for some reason, dread fills him as he thinks of home and his family.

“Thank you,” he still says and the cruelty still glints in His eyes.

**I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ. Yᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ sᴇᴇ.**

Words like these are not meant to be taken lightly, to be ignored. Some part of Ebbers knows this, too, but it is hard to think when his head is full of conflicting thoughts. To go back home, to become human again, is his greatest wish - but can he? Become human again? Because he is now something that lives deep under water, something that sees sharply through the darkness. Ebbers can feel the change of the currents, he can taste the paths of fish and their simple emotions. He knows every inch of the labyrinthian palace that has become his unwilling home.

He thinks he has forgotten how the sun feels on his skin. That, and his grandmother’s face.

It is far too late to change his decision, to take back the question he has asked whenever he had the chance. Without further ado, the Tentacruel deity pulls him close, the gesture so likely to _other_ times that for a moment, Ebbers’ body heats up, a curling tug of anticipation and dread pooling in his belly. Then the moment is gone and they are out of the window, rapidly moving away from the palace and up, up and away until the light of the sun, muted and filtered through leagues of water, is still bright enough to blind Ebbers.

“It hurts,” he whispers and the Deep God stays silent. Ebbers closes his eyes and tugs his face between the shifting tentacles right underneath the God’s main body. For all that he hates Him for taking him to the depths, He is still Ebbers’ God, one Ebbers had learned to love since his childhood.

You fear and hate and love Him, desperate for His goodwill and spiteful for His demands. It is all Ebbers knows - that and the twisting feel in his stomach, the warmth tingling through his limbs caused by His presence.

The light becomes stronger the further up they go and Ebbers’ eyes _ache_ with the brightness. Here the Deep God waits, close to the surface. Ebbers can feel the change of the currents, how they curl against the edges of the island, how waves hurl themselves onto the land. Sand and stone and salt and water, the battle of the ocean and the land.

How long it takes him until he can open his eyes again, he doesn’t know. It is a slow process, his whole body stunned with the force of the evening sun. But his desire to see becomes stronger each moment until he peels his eyes open and pushes away from the God and breaches the surface and sees:

His _home_ , now foreign to him, in short distance; people moving along the shore; sparse, crippled trees, barely surviving in the saline-rich ground; stones, jagged and sharp and unyielding; yellow grasses and tiny white specks of flowers, the only sort to grow so close to the water.

He sees _people_ in hectic movement, running to and fro. He hears, through the sharp wind and the cry of seagulls, voices calling out, shouting, _words with meaning_. Not the whine and babble of the mindless, not the deep, reverberating voice of the Deep God piercing his head. Not his own voice, like a stranger, from his own lips.

He hears a scream, then, and as he swims closer, he can see what those people are doing. _Those people_ , he thinks. _Humans_ , he thinks. They look pale and rail-thin and desperate as they hunt down another, stones thrown and curses flinging through the air.

Closer, he needs to get closer. He sees one of the stones, sharp and malicious, hitting the running person. What a small frame, old and bent, hair white- Ebbers stops and stares because he knows this person, knows who it is. Another stone hits her, and he watches his grandmother stumble and fall and then the townspeople are upon her, fingers turning into claws as they spit and rage and _fear_.

Words with meaning, but they, too, are turning into the husks he knows so well. So Ebbers stays in the water, keeping afloat as he watches his grandmother die with his hurting eyes, all the while feeling the gentle touch of Him, curling around his paddling ankles.

When the blood stops flowing and the townspeople sink to the ground, exhausted and still so fearful, he gives in to the pull and sinks beneath the surface, back into the embrace of his God where the world doesn’t hurt so much.

\---

Ebbers watches, detached, as the Deep God pulls his legs apart. There, nestled in the midst of grey, twitching tentacles, he can see His manhood pushing out - red, not grey, but long and nimble, oozing slime akin to a frightened eel. It has no symmetric design - too many bumps and ridges along the moving shaft. Ebbers knows it well - knows that, despite its look, the skin would feel smooth and hot and slimy against his hands.

He reaches out, then, his fingers brushing the twitching tip before he grips it in the same moment his God probes his rear with one of his tentacles, the rounded tip pushing against his entrance.

“Why did they kill her?” he asks, and he can feel the curl of heat, the stretch and burn, the moving _thing_ stretching him with obvious skill. His fingers curl up tighter around the hot shaft, digging into the plump flesh. It is weird, holding his God like this, knowing that soon, he would be mounted like a common whore. His body is, at this point, used to this arrangement. His mind has, to cope with it, developed a morbid curiosity, wondering if, after some more time, he will come to enjoy this.

Come to ask for it.

Ebbers shudders, half from an upwell of disgust, half from the sensation of the wriggling tentacle pushing deeper. Exhaling, he can feel his own cock swell slightly in answer. Not long, then. Already, he is reacting.

**Bᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴍs ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ sᴛᴏᴘ.**

The Deep God is answering his questions more often, now. He seeks him out more often as well, keeping close to Ebbers, keep touching Ebbers. His body has stopped changing, too, and he thinks he might be fully ocean-born now, with no shred of humanity left. His hand moves along His shaft and he notices the stutter of His movements. Another stroke, and the God pushes him down with more strength, two more tentacles creeping up his body to wrap around Ebbers’ own half-hard manhood.

“So you keep them starving,” Ebbers breathes and arches his back at the sharp pain (arousal) he feels. His cock feels strangled, kept in a tight grip, his sack slowly fondled. This is new and he doesn’t know how to deal with this, but his cock hardens and his own hand keeps moving up and down, along the bumps and ridges, racing the twitches and pulses he can feel underneath his fingers. “You keep the storms coming?”

Maybe he is angry. Maybe he feels more hate than love for Him. He meets His eyes who look down onto Ebbers with heated lust and cruel mockery.

 **Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ᴅᴀʏs, ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ** , He says and Ebbers cries out when another tentacle is pushed into him, the pull and stretch and burn reverberating through his whole body. **Aɴᴅ I ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛʜɪs: Tʜᴀᴛ I sᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴍᴇ. Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴏғғᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ sᴀᴍᴘʟᴇs.**

They twisted, the two tentacles breaching his body. Twisted and turned and flared up, pushing and prodding and widening him with effortless precision. Ebbers can hardly think, let alone speak - all he can to is gasp and moan, his body taut and trembling, toes curling and hands grasping. Another tug follows on his cock and he thinks this is hell (heaven), thinks he will die (come apart).

**Tʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴡɴ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇsᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Aɴᴅ I ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴏғғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴍs.**

There is a pull, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, the Deep God pulls out his limbs, leaving Ebbers gasping for oxygen, his gills along his neck bristling with the effort of filtering the water. He feels so _empty_ , his legs kept spread out, his God hovering above him. Ebbers looks at him with wide eyes, static in his head. Looks and waits, still hard, still _trembling_.

**I ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ Oɴᴇ. I ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ MINE.**

The last word echo so loudly in Ebbers’ head that he can only scream. And then He moves onto him, between his legs, and the hot, slick push of his cock into Ebbers keeps him screaming, keeps him _moaning_ , head tilted back as he is consumed.

 **Mɪɴᴇ** , the Deep God chants, with each thrust as he claims him, wraps him up and pulls him close, and Ebbers can only hold on, feeling too much to process it all. So he holds on, eyes locked with Him, hands clinging and body _clenching_ in a way that makes the God rock all the harder forward.

Ebbers is coming apart and he is lost in His eyes and his hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You're welcome to leave prompts and suggestions in my Idea Collection. ☺**


	4. Chapter 4

There are few of the insane left. The palace is mostly quiet these days - these stretches of wakefulness. It is mostly Ebbers and Him, now.

Only Ebbers and Him and the vast expanse of the palace. He often wonders if this would be his eternity - this palace, deep down, far away from the skies.

Weeks, months, years ago, how long since the last time breaching the surface? He knows that sometimes, He still leaves the palace. It feels lonelier then, with the Deep God away. It is hard to find more of those things, once humans, to end them and make them quiet.

No, not for that - he releases them, doesn’t he? It is hard to tell.

The only things that feel real these days are the weight of his knife and the attention of the Deep God. His memories of other times are more like dreams; his actual dreams are nothing more than confusing nightmares of whispers and darkness and the cold he doesn’t feel anymore.

It is boredom, Ebbers thinks, that has him search for his God himself now. The ocean, vast as it is, has lost its appeal to him, confined in the palace as he is; he even misses the disgust and horror and guilt he’d felt when doing away with the previous sacrifices from countless other places. He feels dead and distant, as if he is asleep for most of his existence, until he finds Him or is found by Him and the heat of their encounters sparks new life inside Ebbers body.

It becomes rare, the days in which Ebbers does not seek Him out to be taken, if only so that he can talk with _someone_ other than himself and whatever demons lurk in the ghastly shadows of the deep waters. And he doesn’t even care anymore, doesn’t remember his disgust and his fear and the pain he once felt. All that’s left is the heat and feeling alive, _alive and not alone_ , which is all that’s left to crave.

\---

“Do they still try to sacrifice people?” Ebbers says one day, not willing to let go of Him yet after another of their couplings. With him no longer resisting, even seeking it out if only to feel _something_ , he cannot think of it anymore as a forceful act. He has become accustomed to the heft and power that the Deep God wields so skillfully. His shyness, his reverence, is gone as well.

His death, Ebbers realizes, is not a thing to fear anymore. It is the long silence and eternal loneliness he fears these days, and he thinks he might know what the Deep God had felt for so long, with all of his companions slowly drifting into insanity.

To lay with Him, to kill for Him, seems so much better now than ending up like the ghosts of former humans… but it is so, so _boring._

**Yᴏᴜ ʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ.**

Ebbers hums, not sure if it is that. But he doesn’t deny it, either - maybe He will get angry with him. Humans, Ebbers remembers, became… hectic, when angry. Memories of loud voices calling out to each other, insults thrown as readily as fists, come to the forefront of his mind. His fingers itch for the weight of his knife, but he plays with one of His tentacles instead, leading the tip to his lips, kissing it softly. “Do they?” he repeats, mouthing the words against the squishy, wriggling thing, wondering when, exactly, he has lost his fear.

**Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.**

His lips keep on moving. Slow, soft kisses, before he opens them just so, his tongue darting forward. He can feel the shiver going through the Deep God’s body and glances upwards. Is he angry? Or just eager, again? “Will you not answer me?” Ebbers asks and when silence stretches between them, he goes back to suckling on his prize.

The ones holding him harden their grip, pulling him close in that possessive way. The red glow, once enough to scare Ebbers to the bones, is brighter.

**Yᴇs.**

With a sigh, Ebbers lets go of the tentacle and reaches out, webbed fingers brushing the soft texture of His dark face. Then he leans forward, eyes locked with Him, searching for that anger. For that lust. For anything, even cruelty.

Anything is better than the boredom he feels when he is alone.

“Can we watch, next time they do?” Ebbers asks and presses a kiss to one of the red orbs. Maybe that is where He goes when He is not here - maybe next time, Ebbers can see what He does.

Maybe, after this, He will take Ebbers with Him.

 **Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ. Bᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ. I ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʏᴏᴜ** the Deep God says and his grip is painful now. Angry then, Ebbers thinks and smiles and lets himself be pushed down again, crowded by the Tentacruel. A bit of pain, Ebbers thinks, might be enough to keep himself awake for now.

\---

It still feels like nothing at all when they travel to the surface. Ebbers feels vague disappointment well up inside him - he hoped for something more. A thrill, maybe, or anything at all, but instead he breaches the surface of the ocean, his skin hitting air, and there is nothing.

The storm around them, dark and purple clouds boiling along the heavens, sending icy-cold rain and bright lightning down, elicit no fear from him. The wind, hurtling the ocean this and that way in threatening waves, does not bother him. He holds onto his God, secure within his grasp, body pressed against him, eyes towards the sky and the cliff and the tiny people above, and he still feels detached from it.

The Deep God’s anger thrills him more than the storm and the girl in a white dress he knows will die soon.

“They know nothing,” Ebbers says and knows that despite the wind and the thunder He will hear him. They have never communicated by sound alone - he can always feel him at the back of his head, a dreadful but secure tether binding them together.

Since his birth, the Deep God had said to him. When Ebbers closes his eyes, he can see the red glow of Him. Can see it in his dreams.

**Tʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs. Tʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ʙʟɪɴᴅʟʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴛɪɴʏ ʟɪᴠᴇs. Tʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪs ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴍs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀɢɪɴɢ sᴇᴇ. Aɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ғᴏʀ ɢʀᴇᴇɴᴇʀ sʜᴏʀᴇ - ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴛᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪᴇ.**

There is so much disgust in His words that Ebbers is glad he is not a human anymore. He can feel the tentacles shift around him and knows that He is still agitated. “They don’t remember, do they?”

**Nᴏ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ғᴏʀɢᴏᴛ.**

“Stupid,” Ebbers murmures and presses a lingering kiss to the side of His face. Then he jumps off his grip, into the stormy sea, and dives down to evade the raging waves above. _Someone should tell them_ , Ebbers thinks, but he knows that the Deep God will not. That is alright - it is their own stupidity at fault, after all. But he was once one of them. _I will try it once, just to give them a chance._

He can feel His eyes on him, the water full of His red glow, his piercing stare, but Ebbers knows He will wait and see what he does next. Not to help, not to intervene - but to watch Ebbers.

Because Ebbers is His, has always been. It is the only thing in the world Ebbers is sure about.

\---

The storm continues raging on. It tugs on Ebbers memories, of previous seasons where the waters had been too dangerous for the townsfolk on the island to traverse. Trade is impossible, and so is fishing in times like these. With the island mostly made of stone, with few hardy trees growing and not much farming going on, if any at all, it is a time of hunger and fear. There are many memories of that: of being so hungry that it hurts, of his mother trying to scrap together the last of their food, trying to make it last as long as possible, trying to earn some more.

He remembers her being gone for some nights, returning with stale bread and dried fish for him to eat. He thinks he knows now what he’d done to keep him alive.

The closer Ebbers is to the shore, the more memories return to him. It makes him feel some things again, but they are not pleasant, and he asks himself if he really misses this, if this life is any better than the one he has now.

He rides a wave to the shore, pulling himself out of the water. The sand feels rough underneath his webbed feet and it takes some time for him to stand again, used to the weightless floating about (weightless but for those hours of heat and push and pull, of being held and spread apart and taken). His first steps after months or years or an eternity are slow and unsteady.

This, he later knows, is the reason why they caught him off-guard - those first steps not unlike a newborn calf, breathing in the salty air, facing upwards to the broiling clouds.

They see him before he sees them. And for a moment, he forgets he is not human anymore, not one of _them_ ; he is different, other, something they don’t know. Something that came from the raging sea, with greyish skin and webbed fingers and gills flapping uselessly at the sides of his throat, his eyes glinting with an unholy light and his teeth sharp like the fish hunting other fish.

He is an oceanborn now, and the humans of the island see him and fear him. Most run away from where they stood, watching the sea and the cliff and the ritual upon it. Others, however, run forward, their shouting as mad as the whispers of those left in the palace, eyes wide and fearful as they swing their crude weapons at him.

When he finally sees them, it’s already too late - one of the men catches him with his spear, the iron tip sinking into his flesh in a way that the jagged stone in the palace is unable to. Pain erupts, a half-forgotten sensation that pulls Ebbers sharply out of his dreaming. Memories of the first time the Deep God had mounted him return to Ebbers, but others do, too - the hand of his mother, bony and quick, landing across his face; a neighbour and another, coming into their house, his grandmother behind them, binding his hands and feet too tight; a man and his fist, punching him painfully when he tries to steal something from him, hungry and desperate.

The tip of the spear in his side, twisting cruelly as he steps away.

Ebbers feels, for the first time in an eternity, awake and there. And he sees the men approaching and the weapons in their hands and the fear in their eyes, and he feels disgust and hate welling up. The spear shaft splinters when he grabs it, the wood unable to penetrate his flesh in the way the iron did.

It works on humans too, Ebbers thinks when he slices the spear head across the human’s face, watching blood flow. His own wound burns and aches, but he moves, faster now, stronger. He is changed, he is oceanborn, he is His. Humans-

They don’t stand a chance when he faces them, and by the time they realize and flee inlands, three more are dead or deadly injured, bleeding out into the sand and the sea, leaving Ebbers alone. His breath comes in a quick staccato, the shortened spear shaking in his hand, and he feels _alive_. It is almost overwhelming, to finally look around and feel the emotions roiling inside of him.

Hate and disgust and anger, so much anger, but he _feels_. It is a lot, it is too much, and when his tears threaten to blind him, he turns around and goes back into the sea, still clutching the weapon that hurt him as he swims back to the Deep God waiting for him.

 **Tʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ғᴇʟʟ** He says. No mention of Ebbers wound or his weapon or the way the beach is soaked with red.

“You won’t bring her to the palace?”

**I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.**

Something settles in Ebbers. His anger shrinks and warm fondness tingles through his body. When he reaches Him, he slots back easily into his embrace, not minding the pressure to his wound. Pain, he thinks, and murder and blood - these things keep him awake and alive. Pain and murder and blood and Him.

The Deep God looks at him, cruel and calm and possessive in a way that makes Ebbers heart flutter.

 **Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ** He says and Ebbers feels himself smile.

“I am yours,” he says in answer and lets himself be pulled back into the depths of the sea.

\---

They do not return to the palace. There is an impatience in every move He makes, a slight tremble in his tentacles and heat in his eyes. Ebbers looks and is not surprised to see the Deep God hard and aching between his many limbs, his fleshy, clever cock already twitching closer.

They barely reach the ocean floor before He turns to him, but Ebbers is ready, tossing his weapon aside.

It tastes like nothing he knows, but also a lot like the sea had tasted before his change - salty and crisp. It is warm, too, almost hot against his tongue and between his lips, the texture slimy and spongy, but with a firmness underneath. It isn’t the first time Ebbers does this, but usually it is the Deep God forcing his cock down his throat just for the thrill.

Today, Ebbers sinks onto the soft ocean floor, the finest of sands and sediments underneath his knees, both hands on His cock as he sucks in the very tip of it. He knows intimately where to touch and where to rub, can feel every twitch and throb and wriggle of the thing between his hands and in his mouth, scorches his fingers and lips on the heat of it as he continues. Can taste the bitter fluid he coaxes out of it with every lick.

The Deep God is not idle, however. He never really is - ever moving, ever watching, His tentacles surround Ebbers until all he sees is the grey of His limbs, the redness of His cock and the glow of His orbs. Many soft tips touch Ebbers all over greedily, pulling at the remains of his once-white robes, gliding along the planes and lines of Ebbers’ body.

There is reverence in the way the Deep God touches him that Ebbers only now notices. How much, he wonders, has he ignored because of his detachment? Everything feels fresh and new, even the sharp pain of his wound when He caresses it, and Ebbers revels in it. Arches into it. He is hard by the time the tentacles reach his groin, one wrapping around his cock as another fondles his balls. A third and fourth one wander around his hips and between his cheeks, deftly parting them with the experience of many times spent thus.

The burn of one tip pressing against his entrance is as delicious as his God’s cock in his mouth and the pain at his side and the moment he woke up all put together.

 **Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ɴᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ** He says and Ebbers shudders as the tentacle prods deeper, the other one nudging the taut rim of his entrance. **Oɴʟʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ. Nᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.**

Ebbers cries when he is entered again, hips bucking forward and then back again, grinding against the thickness of two entwined tentacles inside his body. Eyes closed, he leans forward with renewed fervor, his hands dancing along His shaft, lips pressing hot kisses onto it until he is grabbed and pushed to his back.

The Deep God looms above him and Ebbers catches his burning eyes, legs spreading with an eagerness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Only us,” Ebbers says and He enters him with a harsh thrust that makes him cry out again.

They are one now, for this time, a writhing, rocking mass, and Ebbers thinks he might never want to become human again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You're welcome to leave prompts and suggestions in my Idea Collection. ☺**


	5. Chapter 5

Things change. It is in their nature - some things change quickly, with every beat of their heart. They grow and twist and turn around. Other things change slowly, slower still than the seasons above, like the shift of continents or the growth of mountains.

Ebbers wounds heal with time, but he stays awake, keeps _feeling_ these emotions, and feels more alive than ever before. Before his change, before his fall, before he remembers the first thing as a child.

It needed a human putting iron into his body to wake him up fully, to find pleasure in the crisp saltiness of the ocean, in his new strength and toughness, the many different fish and creatures calling the sea their home. In his speed and sight, the way he can sense things now, the way his fingers recall even the smallest change of texture, the change of the currents, the change of temperature.

He is ready now, as the Deep God has told him, and things change between the two. They are one now, and where the Deep God goes, Ebbers follows. Out of the palace, out of the suffocating darkness they go, crossing long distances as they watch humans despair and starve as the storms go on. They watch other humans, far away from the islands that throw their sons and daughters into the sea, building thriving ports and cities along the coast of continents, their ships big and strong enough to brave the raging skies.

 **Tʜɪs ʙʀᴇᴇᴅ ɪs sᴍᴀʀᴛᴇʀ** , the Deep God teaches him, and shows Ebbers how they think. They still pray to Him, they still offer things to Him - but they never throw their children into the sea.

Ebbers still doesn’t like them, not anymore. Maybe he never liked humans at all. Not since his grandmother got stoned for her sins. “They travel the seas so easily,” Ebbers says.

They don’t die, not like the townsfolk of his former home. They die and starve until only a few are left and those few leave. Now the island is empty, the houses rotting away. The girl has not been the last sacrifice Ebbers has watched falling and drowning, but even that is years ago.

Humans change, quicker than the things in the sea, and while he doesn’t like them and isn’t part of them anymore, he likes the changes, likes the bravery they show. They pray to the Deep God, but they do not _depend_ on Him, do not put every hope on His goodwill.

When the last of the islands is empty, the Deep God is free again, and Ebbers knows it and feels it and is glad of it. No more sacrifices, no more drowning humans. He is the last one and the only one.

The ships grow ever bigger. It is easy now, for humans to cross the sea, and often Ebbers and His God watch them set sail. More ports and cities are built, more ships released onto the oceans.

Sometimes, they still sink. Sometimes, the Deep God lets Ebbers go and watch it close. Sometimes, Ebbers pulls a few of the men back up and to the surface, to a floating piece of wood or to the shore.

Most times, they watch them sink and drown, because that is how things are. Ships sink because of a sudden storm, or because the Deep God takes offence and lashes out, and that is it. Ebbers takes what he needs from the humans and they watch their struggle and their deaths before departing for other parts of His kingdom. Wherever they go, people live or die, and they pray and pray, but don’t despair.

It is, Ebbers thinks, the reason why he sometimes saves them at all. Because they are brave these days, and smart and clever, building their ships to face the storms and the open sea and trusting in their own craft.

And then, one day, decades after his own fall, things change a little bit more.

“Orion,” a man whispers, only half-there and bleeding. Ebbers has pulled him up and onto some planks. There is some fire left and from further away, canons sound like thunder through the air.

Neither storm nor the Deep God have taken this ship to the ocean floor. Humans, Ebbers knows, are sometimes their own greatest enemy.

“What is Orion?” Ebbers asks, the words awkward on his lips and wondering if he should kill this man that looks at him with fear. Fear… and something else.

“You are,” the bleeding man whispers. It is _awe_ , Ebbers thinks, taken aback by the revelation. “Orion, son of the Deep God-” he coughs and blood sprinkles the water. “A boy that was tossed into the sea.”

Ah, Ebbers thinks, mind whirling. His fingers twitch around his favoured spear, eyes set on the bleeding man. Things are changing. His God and Ebbers are one, but this… “I am not His son,” Ebbers says and maybe he should not kill this man. He should let him live, if only to set this right. “I fell and He caught me and made me anew. But I am not His son.”

The sailor stares at him, more awake now, still awed, still fearful. When Ebbers smiles, teeth sharp and white and bloody, the man pales and shivers.

“I am _His_.”

\---

Later, when everything is over and Ebbers knows that the bleeding man has survived, he returns to Him. Later, he tells him about the bleeding man and the stories the humans tell about Ebbers.

Far later, people still pray to the sea. To the Deep God, who can call upon the storms, and to Orion, the Deep God’s fierce servant. It is not quite right, they never get it right. But, Ebbers thinks, it is enough of the truth. Because someone had been tossed to the sea, and a God had caught him and changed him, and that is all that is important.

All that needs to be told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You're welcome to leave prompts and suggestions in my Idea Collection. ☺**


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